


We Sound Like the Start of a Punchline

by triskelion (somerdaye)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:13:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somerdaye/pseuds/triskelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny moved to New York with Stiles so he could have a link to home. He didn't expect to form a new one there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Sound Like the Start of a Punchline

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by marcel. a college au in which nobody actually goes to class.

It started like this:

Stiles and Danny were lab partners for three years of chemistry, but never really what you would call ‘friends’. Different cliques, interests, and general attitude to life meant that their spheres of time-wasting never really coincided outside of chemistry. Danny was there, though, when Stiles got his acceptance letter to NYU; Stiles heard through the grapevine that Danny got his, too. Dorm life sounded intimidating and a little disgusting to Stiles, so it seemed logical enough to ask Danny if he wanted to split the cost of an apartment by the university.

Danny agreed, because moving to the other side of America without a single friendly face didn’t sound like his idea of a good time. Besides, Stiles was a nice enough kid. A bit of a loner, sure, but his only friend had ran away to Mexico with a girl whose father didn’t approve, so it was only to be expected. Senior year wasn’t the best time to try and make new friends.

The problem was that Stiles tended to act before thinking things over. In this particular case, he’d taken the nicest, cheapest apartment within six blocks of the school without first informing Danny that it was sort of already occupied.

“Oh, uh,” he said, stopping in the doorway with a box of comic books. The half-naked man in his new kitchen raised his eyebrows like, what. “Hi. Who are you?”

“That’s Derek,” said Stiles, shouldering his way past Danny while trying to balance three boxes on top of each other. “He lives here too.”

“I didn’t know other people lived here.”

Stiles shrugged, dumping the boxes just inside one of the empty bedrooms. “Not people, just Derek.”

“Derek isn’t people?” Danny asked, brow furrowed.

“Technically he is, yes, he’s people, but the guys who lived here last semester swear he’s a top lad.” At Danny’s look, Stiles added, “They were British. Like, really British. The kind who drink tea five times a day and have a shrine to the Queen in their closet and own all of Doctor Who. Anyway, they say Derek is cool.”

The guy — Derek — fixed Stiles with a glare that could melt solid platinum. Stiles didn’t seem to be affected.

“So, uh, this room’s mine,” Stiles continued, pointing to the door beside him. “Yours is the other door, and Derek’s is on the other side of the kitchen. And we are not to go in there...” He trailed off, looking quizzically at Derek.

“Under any circumstances,” said Derek.

“Under any circumstances!” Stiles repeated in a terrible British accent, hopping a little. Danny smiled — New York wasn’t making him nearly as anxious as it might have, had he come alone.

Derek frowned at him. “I’m not... You’re mocking me in the wrong accent.”

“Oh, I’ll be mocking you in a lot of accents,” Stiles promised.

It was really too bad, Danny thought as he lovingly stacked his comics onto the less-than-sturdy IKEA shelf, that Derek seemed to think Stiles was joking. He was going to be in for a nasty surprise.

-

Danny never really watched a lot of tv, honestly. What was the point, when there were other ways to waste his time that didn’t melt his brain out through his ears? Now, though, he sort of felt like he was living in a sitcom.

Watching Stiles and Derek interact was like watching a comedian and his straight man before they got onto the same wavelength. Derek seemed to be completely baffled by everything Stiles did and, really, it was adorable. After about a week living there, Danny could already see Derek’s stone-faced bad boy image cracking as he desperately tried to understand what Stiles was even talking about.

“Don’t know why they call them french fries,” he said at one of the rare dinners Derek joined them for. Neither of them had any clue where he went, as school hadn’t started yet, but they were a little afraid to ask. He held up the fry for Danny’s inspection.

“Doesn’t look very French to me,” Danny said with a shrug.

“More Irish in origin,” Stiles agreed. “Probably that’s just the potato thing, though, I automatically — are you Irish?”

He was looking at Derek, who did a great impression of a deer in headlights. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yeah,” said Stiles, rolling his eyes like Derek was being deliberately slow. Danny tried not to laugh, with great difficulty. “Who else would I be talking to?”

“Well, me,” Danny said.

Stiles waved his hand. “I’m, like, eighty percent sure you’re Hawaiian. Besides, Derek just kind of has that look about him, you know? The Irish look. He should be drinking pints and chasing rainbows, or whatever it is Irish people actually do.” He paused, the fry still held out like it was under examination. “You’d make a wonderful leprechaun, Derek.”

This time, Danny couldn’t hold back the snort of laughter. Derek looked at him, then comprehension dawned on his face as he realised that Stiles was making fun of him.

“Call me a leprechaun again,” he said, standing up so he could briefly loom over Stiles, “and I’ll rip your throat out.”

It wasn’t until Derek dropped his plate in the sink and stormed into his bedroom that a paler-than-usual Stiles found his voice again. “I, uh,” he said to Derek’s empty chair, “will keep that in mind. Duly noted, Mister Derek sir.”

“Are you still mocking him or are you legitimately that frightened?” Danny asked quietly.

Stiles just shrugged, still looking a bit shaken.

-

“I’m not sure he’s human.”

Danny looked up from his laptop, wondering how Stiles had gotten into his room. He’d locked that door, hadn’t he? “Who’s not human?”

“Derek,” Stiles stage-whispered, perching on the edge of Danny’s bed. His eyes were wide, unblinking, and a little crazy. “He wakes up at five a.m. every morning, hasn’t been sick once in the month we’ve lived here, not even when you and I had strep throat — thanks for giving that to me, by the way, I’m not bitter or anything — and, I mean, have you ever seen him shower? Or, for that matter, even go to the bathroom?”

“Well, no, because I’m not a pervert,” Danny said.

“You know what I mean. I’ve never even seen him touch the doorknob to the bathroom, dude, that’s weird.”

“And exactly how much Adderall have you had today?”

After a worrying few seconds where Stiles counted on his fingers, he shrugged. “A lot?”

“I’m flushing your stash soon, man, you’re getting out of control.”

“At least I’m human!”

Danny thought that was debatable, at best, but didn’t say anything. He liked Stiles; living with him was much easier than Danny had expected it to be — but even if it hadn’t been easy, he’d once spent an entire summer at Jackson’s house and nobody had gotten maimed. Danny considered himself a pretty patient person.

So he let Stiles ramble, nodding along, because that’s the sort of person Danny wanted to be.

—

Rent the next month turned out to be higher than they expected, and since Derek used to share the three-bedroom place with four other dudes — which was certainly relevant to Danny’s interests — Stiles came up with the plan of taking on another roommate. Danny thought it was a good idea, and Derek didn’t care, so an ad went up on the college’s off-campus listing site that night.

Two days later, they met Lydia Martin.

—

“I’m not intimidated by the idea of living with three men,” she said right off, and Danny believed her wholeheartedly. She was all perfect hair and heels and lip gloss, the kind of girl who came a dime a dozen, but her eyes were sharp, and her voice cracked like a whip. “However, I do insist on having my own room.”

“That’s — that’s fine,” said Stiles. He seemed to be having trouble picking his jaw up off the floor. In the corner, Derek snorted. “You can have mine.”

“Woah,” Danny said, holding his hands up. “You’re not sleeping with me.”

Stiles’ face fell. “Am I not attractive to gay guys?”

Normally, Danny would’ve at least _tried_ to help out Stiles’ self-esteem, which wasn’t the greatest on the best of days, but Derek was staring at Stiles like he was the stupidest person Derek had ever come across, and Lydia Martin was inspecting her nails, obviously bored. If they wanted her for a roommate — and Danny did, because she seemed smart and it might be nice to have a girl around the apartment — he couldn’t avoid her concerns by extolling Stiles’ virtues.

So instead, he patted Stiles’ shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting way, and said, “I can’t speak for the entire gay community, but you’re definitely not _my_ type. I just don’t want to be woken up at ungodly hours by your ADD.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch, then,” Stiles said, cheered up. “Or the bathtub!”

“You will not,” Derek said. Lydia Martin cocked an eyebrow at him — it was the first thing he’d said since she sauntered in, took one look at the floor-to-ceiling windows, and declared, “I want to live here”.

“Why can’t he stay with you?” Lydia Martin asked, flicking her hair. She looked supremely unconcerned by the death glare Derek fixed on her.

There was a long, awkward silence, until finally, Stiles said, “Um, because he’s threatened to kill me if I invade his personal space. Several times, in fact. I think he’d much prefer to bunk with Danny.”

Danny wasn’t a fan of that idea — Derek was hot, and he tried to avoid crushes on straight guys. He was sure his discomfort with Stiles’ suggestion was broadcast all over his face, because Lydia Martin sighed deeply and said, “Look, I don’t actually _care_. Do I have a room or not?”

“You do,” Stiles said before either of the other men could protest.

“Good.” When Lydia Martin smiled, a chill went up Danny’s spine. “I’ll be back tomorrow with my things. I expect the room to be clean, empty, and odour-free.”

Then, in a flurry of purple dress and shiny curls, she was gone. Danny and Derek eyed each other, and Stiles was wondering aloud if they were going to have some kind of smackdown over who had to make room for Stiles in their bedroom. It looked like it was leading to that, yeah.

In the end, they did the mature, responsible thing.

“Fuck,” Derek growled, glaring at Danny’s hand like it would magically flatten itself out.

Danny shrugged, gesturing his closed fist at Stiles. “Rock beats scissors. You’re keeping Stiles.” In the kitchen where he was making dinner, Stiles complained about being likened to a pet.

“I regret every decision that led me to this point in my life,” Derek muttered. It was so quiet that Danny almost missed it.

Huh. Who knew Derek was able to joke.

—

Lydia slot into place really well in their apartment.

It wasn’t because everyone’s personalities magically complemented each other — Danny was still waiting for Stiles to ‘have an accident’, honestly — but for the simple reason that Lydia _made_ herself fit.

“Make me breakfast,” she ordered Stiles and Derek, before dropping into a chair beside Danny. She looked flawless, of course, even in yummy sushi pajamas. Stiles rushed to do as she said, and Derek just raised his eyebrows incredulously. She turned to Danny with a genuine smile. He tried not to recoil. “Morning, darling, how did you sleep?”

He’d tried, many times, to inform Lydia that he liked her well enough, but he refused to be anyone’s ‘gay best friend’.

“Oh, I know _that_ ,” she’d said with a scoff. “You’re a lot smarter than Shirtless and Klutzo, though, and I like you. I could stop being nice, if you’d prefer.”

“Er, no,” he’d said, scared by the glint in her eye. “That’s... all right. I like nice.”

They all did what Lydia wanted. Stiles was obvious about it, but Derek tried to hide it. It worked, too, up to the moment he sat, arms crossed, to glare at the screen while everyone else watched a Bring It On Marathon.

Danny didn’t mind doing what Lydia said. She usually knew better, anyway.

—

“Do you _ever_ wear a shirt?” Lydia asked Derek one day, looking up from her physics textbook. She didn’t sound like she was bothered by it in the slightest. Neither was Danny, for that matter. They could both appreciate a nice body — and so could Stiles, if Danny was seeing things right.

Derek stared at her, blank-faced. Stiles, unable to keep his mouth shut for long, laughed and asked, “Did someone burn all your shirts or what?”

“Yes,” Derek said, completely serious. In the ensuing silence, he frowned at them all. Then, he sighed. “That was a joke.”

“Oh my god,” breathed Stiles. “I was worried I’d accidentally brought up some fire-related tragedy in your past, oh god, don’t _do_ that again. Not the joking thing, you could really stand to do that more, but I think we’d all appreciate it if you made jokes that didn’t give me a heart attack.”

“I wouldn’t mind a mild heart attack,” Lydia snarked.

“Good for the skin,” Danny agreed, wondering when this became his life. He used to be pretty popular, best friends with the top dog, so to speak, and all around a generally _normal_ guy. Now he was having four in the morning games of Halo and staying home to watch movies instead of going to parties. It was good, though, because the whole reason he agreed to move to New York with Stiles was the comfort — and it was working. He barely stressed about his classes (so much easier than he was led to believe) or which boys were playing for his team (there was a damned good percentage of them in New York) or anything like that.

His primary worry, lately, was keeping Stiles alive. Derek seemed to be warming up to him — as much as Derek _could_ warm up to a person, in any case — but Stiles was an acquired taste.

Now that Lydia was around, though, Derek’s walls were starting to crumble.

They learned through Lydia’s surprise interrogations that when he went out, it was to meet his friends, Isaac and Boyd, and a girl named Erica who, and Danny didn’t want to make assumptions but, it kind of sounded like all three of them _shared_ her. Which _wasn’t_ totally relevant to Danny’s interests, but judging by the expression Stiles got when Derek said it, it was relevant to _his_.

For another thing, the mystery of Derek’s bathroom habits were solved; Stiles discovered after moving into Derek’s room that there was a secret en-suite bathroom in it. He apologised to Derek for thinking he wasn’t human, and Derek got that pinched look between his eyebrows that meant he wanted to know what the hell Stiles was talking about but wasn’t about to ask. Danny saw it as a kind of blessing, though, because Stiles was terrible for stealing his aftershave.

Seeing Derek open up more and more, at the pace of a socially awkward snail, was a very good thing, in Danny’s opinion. He liked his roommates — considered them friends, even. It was a strange combination of strange people, and it shouldn’t have worked, but.

—

Derek was on the couch when Danny and Stiles got home from lacrosse practice, Lydia on their heels. (She liked watching, she said, and Danny had a shrewd suspicion that she was making a logical decision in which of the guys she was going to allow to ask her out.) He looked up at their entrance and his lips twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile.

“Hey,” said Stiles, smiling wide like he knew what Derek was trying to do. “What’s up?”

“I, uh.” Derek looked down. He had a bunch of dvds in his hand, Danny noticed. “I was thinking we could. You know. Watch the Lord of the Rings movies? I’ve never seen them.”

There was colour rising in Derek’s cheeks, and Danny exchanged a dumbfounded look with Lydia, who actually looked thrown for once. Stiles, on the other hand, just started screeching about how the hell Derek had never watched the Lord of the Rings, and put the first movie in before Derek could even formulate an answer.

“I’m going to change into my pajamas,” Lydia finally said. She grinned tentatively before swooshing off.

Stiles and Derek were on the couch together now, bickering, but Danny wasn’t too concerned anymore about Stiles getting his face smashed in; he felt his eyes crinkle with the force of his smile and said, “I’ll go make the popcorn.”


End file.
